Diary of a Madman, Middle Class, aetat 59
by Persephone999
Summary: Renfield's diary. Done for a class project.
1. Dr Seward's Foreword

Diary of a Madman, Middle Class, aetat 59

Foreword

To whom it may concern,

The following documents were collected from the cell of Mr. R.M. Renfield, who died seven years ago, which the reader may know is the same time that the curious and horrific situation with Count Dracula was happening.(I have attatched the details of Mr. Johnathan Harker and one Dr. Abraham Van Helsing) for those who wish to know more about the series of events) Consequently, it seems fitting to store these alongside other documents regarding the aforementioned events as, despite the mental state of the writer, these documents hold immense relevance.

In usual circumstances, these papers would be dismissed as the nonsensical ramblings of a madman. However, given the severity of mine and my associates' dealings with the Count, I feel they may hold some relevance. I have attempted to correctly order and date the entries, but this is the furthest they have been altered.

I feel it would be appropriate to give a brief description of the writer alongside these notes- a frame for the painting I suppose would be an appropriate term. At fifty nine years old, Mr. Renfield stood at six foot two with red hair and beard. I did not dare to offer him a shaving razor or scissors, and no member of staff was willing to help with his hygiene, not least due to an attack upon a previous doctor which resulted in the loss of an eye. He was of a pale, sickly, bloodless complexion, and needed blood transfusions on several occasions during his incarceration. This bloodlessness may have been a partial cause of his delusions; however, the subject's records document the use of mercury upon the patient at the beginning of his incarceration, which suggests that syphilis may also have been a factor.

On a final note, I must stress to the reader that, while Mr. Renfield could occasionally be coherent and articulate, he was undisputedly a lunatic- his account must be treated with caution.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. John Seward.


	2. First Entry

First entry, approx early May

I have become very good at catching flies. It was clever of me to put a little meat on the window sill to lure them close enough to grab. My stomach growls like a mad animal, but I do not mind sacrificing the meal. In fact, I'm happy of the excuse not to eat the meal, for the food they give is not fit for dogs; hard bread with blue mould creeping over it, water that smells and tastes of rust, bits of meat that are both burnt and bloodied at the same time.

For two days I have woken to the melody of buzzing wings. The insects flock to the rotting meat between the second and third bar of my window and feast for a moment before I shoot my hand through the bars and pluck them from the air. At last count I had sixty-three. How many flies would it take to give me the life of another human?

My cell stinks of filth like a pigpen, so I do not mind the smell of the meat rotting, though it makes me a little hungry. No matter, I have plenty of little winged snacks should the hunger become too much. I shall have to eat them some time to keep the master happy- and anyway, as I have said, they are far better than the meals in this damned place!

The Stoke man is gone, finally. I wish the blasted guards hadn't came so quickly, he'd have been a far better offer for the Master. He had plenty of blood in him, I must say. Dyed the light-yellow floor padding burgundy with it. The cells smells of the blood now, too, as well as drains and rust and human filth- a result of my predecessor, I believe, or perhaps his predecessor. Imbeciles(idiots?), inebriates, lunatics. Any of those could have been responsible. Whoever he was, he managed to rip padding from the wall.

But anyway, the blood- the life!- reminds me of my purpose here, and I will suceed. I will make good on my promises, and the Master will make good on his._  
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	3. Second Entry

Second Entry, approx 4th May

It is the eve of St. George's Day, and close to midnight. A witching hour! The world is a stage tonight. That is from some play I went to with Clara, or whatever her name was. That was before I found a greater purpose in Transylvania.

He will be making the way to England soon. Will my suffering be over, then?

_Midnight. _Something flapped past a moment ago- a raven. I tried to get the thing, I did! But it was too far, I could not catch it. I shall stick to my flies.

In the right light, the insects have some beauty; slender black legs like thread, silver veins etched over glossy wings, an emerald sheen to their black backs. It is almost a shame to eat them. But they make a lovely crunching between the teeth. The trick is to bite the head off first or crush it between the back teeth. Otherwise they'll wriggle in your mouth or scratch your throat.

_Later._ The master is whispering. He has a solicitor on the way to the castle. He will not be much longer! In a short time he will be here and he will make me immortal. He will. He promised. I must keep collecting life, I am doing my best in this cell, but it is not much but he is a good master he will help me, won't he? I have seventy-three flies, that is very good for a bit of steak on the window sill, very good, isn't it? And, and when he gets here I shall have more and he will see how clever I am and he will see that I keep my promise and then all will be very very good when he lets me out of this place and I am able to eat real food, yes! I will not need mere flies then.


	4. Third Entry

Third Entry, approx 5 May

_Sunrise._ I dreamed of Carfax again. It was dark, as it was the first time I went to the place. I saw it as though it was the first time I had seen it; each arch, the courtyard, the old door with large iron nails. As I stood waiting in the doorway I heard the clinking of keys, dull footsteps, howling and the screams of cold wind which burnt my throat as I inhaled. The door opened, and I awoke. The name "Mina" came to my lips several times, also, along with the words I have mentioned. Perhaps the solicitor is married, or will be. I had a woman once, with blue eyes. We wed on a grey day and had some happiness before she died. Childbirth, was it?Odd words swirled in my mind today when I awoke;'Ordog', 'Pokol', 'stregoica', 'vrolok', 'vlkoslak'. The master has told me these before when I went to see him... how long ago? No matter. I don't want to think how long I've been here. My knowledge of Transylvania and its beauty has rotted away with time, much like the meat on the window. But my memory is sufficient.

The perfume of decay is overpowering now. I have eighty-three flies, and I am used to their foul taste. It no longer bothers me- they are even very nutritious though I know the master wants more sustenance. I know from him that the solicitor will be at the castle- Denn die Todten reiten Schnell. I can remember that. Will he offer the solicitor what he offered me? No, surely. He will not make him immortal before me. Not after all my waiting.

_Night. _Today was the monthly bath, too. They use cold water, and no soap. My teeth are still chattering- what little sunlight the high window lets through is not enough to warm me. I wish there was a fireplace. I am not allowed to shave or be shaven- they do not trust me. Perhaps the new doctor shall be more lenient, if I behave myself this time. Though I would be more amicable if they would kindly give me something edible.

There are mad dogs outside. Singing for their master, wailing like children. Hounds of Hell. Hell, what is that? Some damn superstition to make the pious quake into almsgiving that their "soul" might spend time in a make-believe garden. It's all fear, after all, to believe in some fairy in your chest, spectating from behind the ribcage, waiting for someone to carve an exit and let it fly away into them cotton clouds. I can visualise them shudder past the asylum walls, I hear them gossip about their servants, their masters, the girl passing by who everyone knows is carrying the pastor's bastard.

They talk of Jack, too. Jack the Ripper, bleeding the whores of London dry. If they only knew. I want to laugh at them, to declare the truth to them. I know the truth. And I give alms, too, of sorts. And I know about Jack and the things done to those women(I don't care for names, they are only whores). It was not a man's doing. They seem to believe only a man could; a woman is too sweet, too gentle, too angelic. They do not know much, do they? Perhaps there ought to be more imbeciles on my side of these bars.

_Revision_: I have remembered one of the words. "Pokol" is Satan.

_Second Revision_: The woman I married had grey eyes, I think.


	5. Fourth Entry

Fourth Entry, undated

The solicitor is there now, I can feel it. He must be, so I need not wait much longer. I could laugh and cry like a child. I knew my master would not forget me, not when I have been such a good creature and tried so much. I will be stronger when the promise is fulfilled, so strong that I will rip the walls around me down. I will be as strong as Samson, and kill my captors as he did. But I will not die like he did. I will run, and breathe, and _eat, _free as any wild creature that prowls or swims or soars.

The night is far more beautiful tonight. If I sit with my back to the door and lift my head to a precise angle, then I can see the stars like diamonds, constellations laced through the tangled black tree branches. The trees bear apples, I can smell them. But I am not allowed outside... not yet. I must be patient, that I may inherit the Earth.


	6. Fifth Entry

Fifth Entry, approx 25th May

_Morning._ Met the Stoke man's successor- Seward, I believe. The boy has a look of intelligence about him, which is more than may be said for some. It was hard to tell if he was handsome or not- his face was screwed up so that it barely looked like a human face. I think perhaps he dislikes my flies. Then again, perhaps he is simply unused to the smell as of yet.

I realise that the Seward boy could be of great use to me- he is younger than the Stoke man by at least fifteen years if not more, less hardened by experience. His eyes bulged when he saw my flies(there are approximately three hundred and nineteen now), so I can only assume he is of a more delicate disposition. Very pale, too, with violet shadows under his eyes as though he hasn't slept or eaten for days. That said, he did not faint as I expected he might, so perhaps I am underestimating the boy.

_After dark. _A spider crept through the bars a few minutes ago. I did my best to grab it, but the damn thing scrabbled up the wall before I could catch him. I can half-see him in the moonlight now, lurking in the corner, weaving his web. It's a shame I do not have such an ability, or I might have twice what I have caught.


	7. Sixth Entry

Sixth Entry, approx late May

My father came back from the dead once.

He first died some time in December. The man himself is a vague, watercolour image in my mind; pale, with the same build as a pencil and probably as easily snapped in half. He said little- in truth, I barely recall his voice- and there was a faint smell of tobacco about him. I believe he smoked a pipe, although I suppose the scent could have been from cigars. Like myself he was red-haired, and had a very red complexion. He was a solicitor, I believe, and went abroad once or twice due to his occupation.

I was about eleven when he "died". At about six o'clock in the morning, I awoke to a high-pitched shrieking. Darting out of bed, I ran towards the noise, only realising as I approached the staircase that the scream was my mother's. Hurdling down the corridor, I felt my heart stop as I banged madly against the chamber door. A million horrid ideas ran through my subconscious as I threw myself against the locked door; a fire from a candle crawling over the room and cackling as it consumed all it touched, my parents included; a burglar with a knife tying my parents up; a terrible illness festering on the white skin of my mother, boils and scabs covering her soft, warm skin, pus fusing her eyelids shut. It was around this point that I heard myself shouting: "Mother, what has happened? Mother!"

She did not reply nor open the door for a good ten minutes. When she finally did, she shut the door behind her with such force that I thought it would cry out.

"Robert, go back to bed," she ordered me, her face whiter than that of a fresh corpse. "And stay out of mine and your father's room." I was about to ask why went, holding her skirts up, she ran off, shouting to our housekeeper to fetch a doctor as I stood stunned by the door of the master bedroom. Inside lay my father, paler than the bedsheets. He was terribly still, and when I shook his shoulder to wake him, and found that he was colder than the December wind wailing outside.

The doctor, an imbecile with a waxed, grey moustache, put the "death" down to natural causes- my father was in his fifties and not a particularly healthy man- and the colour seemed to be sucked from my mother's cheeks. She was not usually one for "making an exhibition of myself" as she would have put it, but she wept there and didn't seem to properly stop for a good week until the funeral, and even then a haze of misery seemed to enshroud her as she stared at the coffin held upon the undertakers' shoulders. I myself said little- what was there to say?

The funeral was fairly usual- I assumed so, at least, as it was the only one I had been to- up until the time where six gentlemen began to lower the remains of my father's body into the hole dug for him. Even then, I did not believe in anything past this world- my father did not either- so I knew that the priest's promises of eternal life were false, fabrications to comfort my mother. What really loomed for my father, then? The pit of fire? Anything at all? What a wretched thought that my father, a kind man, a man who hurt no one, could be so easily discarded, useless and irrelevant like a clock that no longer ticked. Was that death? With these thoughts came the most dreadful nausea, a swirling terror that I could only compare to the fear of a child who thinks they have seen a monster in the dark.

I believe that I was distracted from these awful thoughts at about the time that the coffin was being lowered bit by bit into the ground as the priest droned, "Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return" Now, it is this point at which, supposing that some person someplace is reading this, I must ask for my anonymous reader to trust me, though I myself did not believe it as it happened, because as the priest moved his lips to form the word "shalt", a loud thudding was heard coming from the grave. I looked to the priest. Was this something that usually happened at a funeral? Frowning, he shook his head at me and went on.

"In the name of the Fath-"

Bang bang bang.

"And of the Son-"

Bang bang bang. It was at this point I thought I was imagining things, until my mother turned her head and looked at me as though to say, "Did you hear that?" Regardless, the priest continued.

"And of the-"

Bang. Bang.

"Of the Holy Spirit. A-"

"Help! Let me out, damn you, let me out!" This was punctuated by banging and screaming, floating like a ghost from the inside of the mahogany coffin.

Not a moment was lost in hoisting the "corpse" from its final resting place. There was a lot that I could not remember the details of, shouting, arguing, panic and my mother shouting something, but the moment that the coffin was prised open is as clear as the words on this page. As the coffin lid was shoved back like the stone from the entrance of the tomb, my father's corpse sat bolt upright and drew a deep, loud breath, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his mouth still open with a silent scream too terrible to hear. His hands were covered in blood from his scratching at the coffin. Two of the fingernails never grew back.

It was later decided that my father must have fallen into some sort of coma which prevented him from waking that morning and slowed his pulse, although my grandmother insisted it was a miracle. My father's expression at the moment of his ressurection is perhaps so clear in my mind because he wore in forever after. He was not the same as he was, of course- he spoke less, and would scream the most terrible screams if the candles in he awoke to darkness.

My younger brother could not understand why our "dead" father was sitting eating breakfast with us the next morning anymore than I could. For example, he refused to believe that Father was really alive. Instead, he would insist that he was "undead" because, by his logic, a person is not put into a coffin unless he is dead. Yet he was not really alive either, I supposed- not as he had been. From then on he seemed to have difficulty staying still. He fidgeted. He bit his nails, and if he woke in the darkness he would shake and sob with fright like an infant.

He caught typhus a while later. Again, he refused to wake one morning, and again we buried him. But this time he did not wake up, though my brother and I waited for him. This time he was not undead, but one of the truly dead.


	8. Seventh Entry

Seventh Entry, approx 5th June(matched to Dr. Seward's diary)

The spider is still here. I would not mind, but the damn thing is eating my flies! I would grab him between finger and thumb and swallow him myself, but he a quick little thing and will not stay still for quite long enough.

The Seward boy came to visit again today. Apparently my flies are getting out of control and he would very much appreciate it if I could please get rid of them as they are becoming an inconvenience. Admittedly I was not pleased about the matter, but I managed to restrain myself. He agreed that I could have three days to clear them away. I suppose I shall have to eat a little faster than I had expected to. Then again, such a great intake of life can only do me good.

Later. I have just looked above me to see a fly struggling in the spider's web. Standing on my bed, I saw that it was stuck by the wings to the net the spider had created, completely powerless as the spider devoured it, taking its life as it had with many hundreds of other flies. Would a spider have as much life as a fly, or more? A spider is higher on the food chain. If I were to put lots of pennies into one purse, I would eventually end up with a pound saved. Does life work in this way, also?

I have almost three hundred flies. Perhaps it will not hurt me to spare a few. I have an idea.


	9. Eighth Entry

Eighth Entry, approx 18th June

I now have only a hundred flies, but thirty spiders! This seems like such a brilliant solution in hindsight. If these become too much, I may simply follow the food chain as far as I am able. I cannot give the master humans now, but this is a fine way to pay my debts. Who knows? Perhaps I may advance further along the food chain. There is a sparrow nesting in the tree outside, after all. It cannot be the only one. How many flies must a sparrow be worth, I wonder?


	10. Nineth Entry

Ninth Entry, approx 1st July(matched to Dr. Seward's diary)

The Seward boy has been poking his nose into my work again. I have been told to get rid of the spiders. However, I was right in believing that this one is a softer touch, as he relented and asked me to reduce them, giving me three days as before, to which I agreed before noticing a blowfly hovering just above me. Before I could stop myself, I plucked the thing from the air and swallowed it, forgetting the boy's presence. When I looked back, he had such a look of horror that I had to explain to him, having let him comment on my "revolting" behaviour, that insects are very wholesome. In my attempts to justify myself I became carried away- I told him how the flies give me life.

In my curiosity, I have began to take note of how many flies are fed to each spider and therefore how many flies' lives each must therefore be worth. It currently evens out to at least twenty per spider, not taking into account the insects eaten before I caught them. In future, I shall count the spiders each day, leaving fifteen and eating the other.

On second thoughts, perhaps I could use this opportunity to advance further along the food chain. After all, there is a sparrow nesting in the tree outside, and it cannot be the only one...


	11. Tenth Entry

Tenth Entry, some time in June

I now have a sparrow for the master. He will be very pleased to see what a clever servant I am when he comes to England. Yet this success makes me thirst for more- more birds, more life, bigger animals, more life! But something larger than a sparrow would not fit through the bars. Then again, a cat might fit through, if very, very scrawny. But the Seward boy would likely put his foot down at a cat. I shall have to think of something else.

Later. I have decided to ask the Seward boy for a kitten. He will not deny me that, will he? A cat, perhaps, but not a sleek, playful little kitten. A kitten will grow into a cat anyway, and perhaps by then I will be out. A cat leads me to a dead end, I suppose, but imagine the life! Especially after the feasts I will feed it. I'm shaking, I'm like a child, I cannot wait!


	12. Eleventh Entry

Eleventh Entry, approx 19 July

I now have fifteen sparrows fluttering about, which seemed to impress Dr. Seward. Glad to be off to a good sort, I did my best to flatter and coax and persuade. I can be ever such a gentleman where it is necessary, you see. Eventually, he asked me what it was I wanted, so I made my request:

"A kitten, a nice, little, sleek playful kitten, that I can play with, and teach, and feed, and feed, and feed!" And do you know what the good doctor's response to this was? He glanced up at my sparrows, then to me, and asked, "Would you not rather have a cat than a kitten?"

A cat! Not only had the man not rejected my plea, he had offered more! A cat! Oh, the master will impressed with my resourcefullness. He is bound to make good on his word if I can get such an animal in the confines of an asylum, for he will think I would be a useful ally to have.

"Oh, yes, I would like a cat!" I babbled, my words hopping about in the air like bubbles in champagne. "I only asked for a kitten lest you should refuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?"

The Seward boy, having given me hope, then saw fit to snatch it away by saying he feared it would not be possible, though he would see about it. I felt like wringing his neck there and then, though I restrained myself. I doubt I would get away with savaging another doctor.

_Later._ The Seward boy returned, presumably hoping that I would beg. In my desperation I did, falling to my knees and beseeching him, but he refused me. Did he think that I said my salvation depended on it was meant in jest? For the second time I imagined myself attacking this man, this time wishing to pick the man up with one hand and throw him across the wall, but by some miracle I managed to stop myself and went to sit in the corner, biting the skin around my nails until I could taste the life beneath it. If I cannot do as I intended, then I suppose I must start again. No matter. Life is life, and the master will be glad all the same.


	13. Twelfth Entry

Twelth Entry, approx 20th July

Early morning. My sparrows were an excellent treat to eat, but now I must begin the process again, and did so this morning as the meat I left between the bars has all but rotted away now. The Seward boy came today as I prepared my bait(sugar this time), seeming a little alarmed when he noticed the sparrows gone. In the end I told him they had flown away so that he would leave. I have more important things to worry about than him.

Before noon. Perhaps it was not the best idea to eat the sparrows without plucking them first. My throat is still burning an hour after I vomited. I think the quills of the feathers may have tore my stomach, for it hurts terrible. But I will not die, at least. I have plenty of life in me for now.


	14. Thirteenth Entry

Thirteenth Entry, approx early August

In my dreams I hear water. The solicitor will likely have left by now, for it doesn't take four months to sell a house. The master is coming! My salvation is near! I do not need to fawn over the Seward boy or the others like him. They no longer matter. I do not have to give a pin about them or their thoughts from now on. I am free! Or will be, soon. My patience is paying off as I knew it would.

My salvation will be here soon. I must go to my master! I must go to Carfax!


	15. Fourteenth Entry

Fourteenth Entry, 20th August

The Seward boy came by to pester me yesterday morning. Perhaps the attendant was hurt by my honesty. It doesn't matter now. None of them matter now that the master is at hand. I feel giddy, all my waiting will be over soon! I would have danced and laughed for joy had the boy not been watching me. He tried to pester me over spiders today(the man thinks he knows me) until eventually I told him that I no longer cared. However, he persisted in his pestering like a mutt scratching at a bedroom door, so eventually I told him something to consider: "The Bride maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the coming of the bride. But when the bride draweth nigh, then the maidens shine not to the eyes that are filled." For all his bright ideas, he hadn't a clue what I meant.

_Later._ I managed to get to Carfax tonight before they dragged me back to my cell. The life I have consumed served me well tonight- it gave me the strength to pull out the window. It was a rather small hole for a man my size to get through, but I escaped, I did, Master! Then, once I was outside, not taking even a moment to enjoy the warm night air, the fragrant flowers or the opal moon, I scaled the wall as I saw the Master do once and within minuted I had reached my place of pilgrimage and threw myself happily against the large wooden door, renewing my promises and adding some besides. The Master knows my loyalties now. He knows that I will obey him, and be faithful, and that was all I could say before the Seward boy and a few others caught me. I fought like Goliath and Samson, but like both I failed and was taken back to my prison.

They sent me to the padded room in a straighjacket so tight that it nearly broke my ribs, which is why I did not write this yesterday. But I said much of it, and I say it again. _He_ is coming. I only need wait a little longer, and it will begin!


	16. Fifteenth Entry

Fifteeth Entry, undated

Another peculiar dream tonight. The three women- his women, Lilith and the other two- were whispering, telling me of their new sister, Lucy. An English girl. So it has already begun. I must get out again, if I can. I must serve the master in whatever way possible, and then I can join the women and Lucy in their escape from death. If they bring me back, then I will dedicate myself to collecting life again. The master is here now, and if there was ever a time for dedication, it is now.


	17. Sixteenth Entry

Sixteenth Entry, undated

I hear the women again. Giggling, all of them. I hear whimpers, too, from a child. Are their offerings more than the sparrows, I wonder? Perhaps so, but then they are around the same size. In any case, I shall be joining them soon, so I need not worry over who collects more life.

Lucy- I assume it is Lucy, for she was not at the castle- appears to have been very pretty. I have not heard her for a while. Perhaps something has happened to her.

This business reminds me of my first meeting the master. I was a historian. I wished to know all I could... and, I suppose, to distract myself from my new status as a widower. My enquires led me to Castle Dracula, and therefore to the master, who was happy to explain the folklore to an ignorant foreign historian such as myself. I stayed for longer than was necessary. I suppose it could be said that I considered the master my friend. I spoke openly to him of my wife's death, how I had behaved and reacted to it, the agonising knowledge of my own mortality... He showed me that I had another option, other than death or madness from succumbing to...

I should not think of this. I should stop thinking of Lucy and Mina and the other women, too. I should know by now what trouble women have caused.


End file.
